Written in Blood
by Pickles the Great
Summary: The lies they wrought and the secrets they kept were written in blood. The very same blood that stained that phone booth on that night. Angst!Roy and Semi Angst!Royai. T for nondescript sexual references. Sorry perverts. Not today.


Drama llama obama.

I won't be updating anything as frequently, since, as some of you know, I am busy unpacking my house. This is a rather long oneshot, which started as an angst!Roy piece, but when I put Riza in there I couldn't help but make it Royai. Sorry Hughes. That's just the way it goes.

I really wish I owned Fullmetal Alchemist. And the rights to the Alfred Hitchcock hour.

**&**

_(He's been scrubbing there for hours, scrubbing that empty phone booth clean but the stains are stubborn, almost as stubborn as him and they don't want to come out.)_

He forced all the energy into his right arm and slammed the sponge against the glass with all the might he had but nothing happened. The blood remained.

_(The blood, that dark red blood, almost black in its intensity, so ferocious, so taunting, that dark black blood of Maes Hughes...)_

His arm was protesting madly, he had been there all afternoon without a single sign of progress, the blood was still there, the stain, the smell, the memories all were still there and sometimes he thought it was them he wanted to be rid of more than anything else.

_(The memories, yes, the memories, maybe if they were gone he could be happy. Yes, the fault lies with the memories, those will be the first to go.) _

He was reminded of those words of so long ago, the words Hughes taught him just a bit before it was too late. The blind can't lead the mute. The mute are unable to tell the blind where they're going and the blind can't see where the path leads. Both are lost. Neither are saved.

_(He's leading them, leading all of them like he lead Hughes, to an early grave, they can't see the road ahead because he has blinded them and he is mute and refuses to tell them where they are going.)_

How long before the rest of them go too? How long will it be before he's scrubbing the blood of each and every one of his subordinates, his friends, one by one, blinded, silenced, lost?

_(Friends? He laughs at the thought of friends. What kind of person does this to his friend? He has no friends. The only one he had is the one whose blood is now staining his hands.)_

Another hour has apparently passed. He did not feel it. He hasn't felt anything since that funeral a few hours ago, when it rained. It was sad, even Hawkeye had gotten wet. The others hadn't bothered to come. They had work to do. They hadn't fought with him, drank with him, laughed with him like he and Hawkeye did. They were so blind.

_(He hasn't even thought about what Hawkeye is feeling. What would she be doing right now? Was she at home, curled up on the couch with a book and coffee, trying to lead her mind away? Was she taking a shower to wash away the scent of blood, as he had done just hours ago? Was she sobbing uncontrollably, shaking with tears running down her face, at the memory of her lost friend? No, she wouldn't do that. She's too brave, too strong. He's the coward. He's the one who's here now, trying to wash away the evidence. Because when the evidence is gone then this will all go away.)_

Was it another hour? Did it matter? He would be here until the job was done, just like Hughes would have done, just like he always told him to do except he never listened. So many regrets, so few moments to be proud of, he was wrong, he was always wrong, and Hughes, in his infinite knowledge was always right...

_(Or maybe he's warping him, making him to be some God, because he deserves to be, because he is gone on his fault, maybe he was never all the things he thought he was, but it doesn't matter now because he's gone and he's not coming back.)_

He ignores the footsteps behind him, because they are his imagination and they are going to go away. Just like Hughes did. Just like so many others did. These nameless footsteps would not linger for long because they are tangible and everything tangible must go.

_(Because he wants them to go, and he gets everything he wants, everything except for the one thing he needs, the one thing he has to have more than anything else...)_

The footsteps have stopped, as he knew they would, but instead there is a shadow, not the shadow of his friend, but a different shadow, this shadow is small, but it is proud and it is strong. It's kneeling over, it's coming right beside him and it's grabbing the sponge by his knees and she is starting to scrub herself. She has always known when he is close to the edge, when he is close to breaking and that is when she shows up so she can fix it because she is Hawkeye and she can fix anything.

_(She can fix anything, anything at all but she can't fix Hughes and she can't fix him.) _

She's wearing the same thing she wore earlier today, the dress uniform with the skirt and sash only she's removed the jacket and she's wearing only a plain white tank top, she must be freezing cold but obviously doesn't care. And there is a reason she doesn't care, it's because she will never take value in herself as she does in others and to him that is the greatest shame in the world.

_(Because she deserves more, she doesn't need to be here with him because she can do so much more good elsewhere, so why does she stay here with him, why does it matter to her and why does he care so much? He should not care about anything, he lost the right to feel when they put that tomb underground.)_

He wants to speak to her, he wants to ask her why she came even though he already knows, he wants to touch her to know she's there even though he already knows what her skin feels like, he wants to put his hand to her face to make sure that she's lasted this long, that she's not already gone like Hughes, and most of all he wants to get the hell out of here and never come back and take her with him.

_(And he knows, he knows all these things but he wants to feel them anyway because he is so selfish and she is so kind and he knows she'll give him anything he wants and if he asked for a pity fuck right now he would probably get one.)_

He considered asking her so many things, each one more ludicrous and demanding than the last and he knew he could get each and every one of them. He didn't know why, all he knew was that he had this power over her and damn if he wasn't going to abuse it for all its worth. Would it matter? If he used her right now would he not see her tomorrow? No, that wouldn't happen. She would remain, because she would never admit to making a mistake. Because she is Hawkeye, and she does not make mistakes.

_(No, she made one mistake, the mistake of trusting him, believing all he says because he knows and deep down she knows that every word that comes out of his mouth is a lie.)_

The work seemed to go much faster with Hawkeye there, she got all the stains he could not and her strength was deceptively great for a woman so small. He had never noticed how slight her frame was until now, she was always built up so tall and so broad in her uniform, the uniform that gave her strength, but now that she was without it she seemed so meek and frail. The fire in her eyes had been dulled, perhaps it was the loss of their best friend, perhaps it was the dim light of the streetlamp some ways away.

_(No, he is sure it is the former.)_

Some hours later the once grotesque phone booth had been scrubbed spotless, the putrid smell of dried blood replaced with the scent of cleaning alcohol, one who had never been there before would never be able to tell that a man had died there.

_(No, no one else would need to know, but he would know and she would know.)_

He grabbed the supplies and tossed them carelessly into a nearby waste bin, he would never need them again and he would rather not have a reminder of what took place here tonight.

_(No, there wouldn't be any reminders, any evidence but he would always remember this night.)_

He turned and began walking home, noting with reluctant happiness that Hawkeye was standing right beside him, as she had always been, and how it should be.

_(Mustang and Hawkeye, the invincible duo, the bond tested by time, one barely ever seen without the other and if one of them could not be strong then the other one was strong in their place, because that is how it is meant to be.)_

They were walking in the same direction, for some reason both of them knew though neither of them had spoken a word to each other the entire night. It was Ishbal again, ducking under tents so not to be seen, no words were needed to convey where they were meeting because they could read the other ones thoughts through their eyes.

_(Yes, their eyes were how they communicated, a silent language only they knew, for no matter how long or how intensely someone stared into either of their eyes they would see nothing, nothing but the blankness of onyx or the glassed look of honey because there was nothing there to see unless you were them.)_

So they went, to the same hotel, under the same name, for the same amount of time, one night, because one night was all it took.

_(One night, one night alone, one night followed by weeks of feeling guilty and unclean.)_

So Ishbal happened again, in their dirty hotel bed, on the wall in their closet, in the bathtub that was so cramped it wasn't meant to fit a whole person but neither of them noticed or cared. Again and again Ishbal happened and it wasn't until the very next morning that they realized the weight of their actions, yet they didn't seem as horrid or as painful as they were supposed to. They were distant, something someone else had done on an isolated world far away but not something they shared together. They did not share. They did not love. All they did was feel, and they barely did that.

_(No, neither of them feel, they are too worn, to aged to feel. Feeling is for the young and innocent, those whose hands were clean and unable to share the guilt and pain of those who cross their paths. They do not feel. It is far too late for that.)_

It scared them to think that they were this distant, this unable to sense the world around them when it used to be all they had was each other. They would spend countless nights in a tent under the stars, reading books about the strong and heroic and dreaming of one day becoming heroes themselves.

_(Yes, when they were young they wasted their time, dreamt of being heroes when all along the heroes they idolized were murderers, killers, nothing more and that was exactly what they became. They got what they wanted.)_

If they could go back to their youth and shout and scream and slap themselves they would. They would beg themselves not to follow these naïve dreams, fight for something else and lead normal, unsullied lives and live them together in peace. They could start a family and live happily and if they had not joined the army and become 'heroes' than that is exactly what they would be doing right now, But in hindsight, neither of them would listen anyway because they are too stubborn. This is one thing that has not changed.

_(The feelings have not changed, but the naïve and hopeful dreams are gone. They are watered down into something completely different, something that to the naked eye still seems positive and promising but when closer studied becomes something selfish and unkind.)_

So there they were, at one point in time willful children, dreaming of one day saving and protecting, slowly becoming jaded and world-weary monsters, unable to feel even for each other and in the end that was all they had.

_(It is all they have now, but a few days ago they had another, one just like them but the life and glue that kept them sealed to this world and now that that is gone they are slowly falling and turning apart, so that they become warped and unrecognizable monsters, even to each other. And soon they will not have even that.)_

**&**

Buh-Bye.


End file.
